


Glowing Like the Metal on the Edge of a Knife

by Goethicite



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Gen, PTSD, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:38:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goethicite/pseuds/Goethicite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say scent is the most direct line to memory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glowing Like the Metal on the Edge of a Knife

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt:
> 
> Avengers, Tony Stark, the smell of burnt metal
> 
> http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/359877.html?thread=63072453#t63072453

The smell of super-heated palladium makes Tony sick. It seeps out of his pores, lingers on his fingers, and rises in the steam of his shower. The smell of metal's decay in his chest (even though he's had the vibranium there for over a year) still sits heavy in the back of his throat. He thinks he's going to go crazy. He thinks, 'I'm dying.'

He can't tell Pepper, because he's so sick of making her cry. Rhodey doesn't want to know about it. (The other man still dreams of finding Tony's body in the desert.) Tony knows Happy knows, but Happy isn't one to say anything. (Thank God.)

Living doesn't stop just because you think you are. Tony builds Pepper a hundred new inventions to apologize. (He can't bear to rub the smell off on her. So he pushes her away.) He builds his new team a tower to live in. (Then he hides in the basement. So none of them can ask what that smell is.) Rhodey's suit gets upgraded. (He's so busy, he doesn't notice anymore.) And if Tony drinks too much and sleeps too little and swallows his meals in green liquid form, he's still good in a fight. Isn't that all anyone really wants from him?

Some days he showers twice, three times, to scrub the smell of superheated steel from his skin. Others, he just doesn't eat. No one says anything, not even Pepper. (Who is half a world away because she's tired of him being an ass.) So, it's okay. It's all good. Until Barton, fucking Barton, grabs Tony's arm one morning on the way to the lab. Tony can't figure out what he's doing, until he sees the others looking at him. Until Natasha's face is gentle, which is sickening because she hates more than she pities him on good days.

"Stark," Barton says, and maybe that's supposed to be soothing, "It's in your head."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Tony lies, but it's hard to play innocent when Barton pushes up the sleeve of his AC/DC shirt. Tony's skin is red-raw from hot water and hard scrubbing. It cracks and flakes white with how dry it's become.

Rogers makes a noise like he's been gut-punched. "Bullshit, Tony," Barton says. And it makes the twisted, tattered remains of Tony's heart hurt that this cold-eyed killer is being kind to him.

Tony opens his mouth, to tell the truth or tell them to fuck off, and can't say anything. Bruce is the one who answers for him, "We already know it’s the smell, Tony. I figured it out when you doused yourself in Pepper's perfume. But none of us can smell anything wrong with you."

This is why Tony hates having people close. They look expectant and kind, and Tony just wants to run away like the useless coward he is. But Barton's fingers are tight on his bicep. The firm, almost painful, pressured grounding Tony here. It's the only reason he manages to choke out, "Palladium, decaying."

Natasha says, "Oh, Tony," so much like Pepper that Tony can't stop himself from slumping against her. She puts her nose in his neck and inhales deeply. The tingle of the air against his skin makes him retch. "Tony," she says cool and soft, "Tony, I can't smell palladium. Only burnt metal."

The factual way she states that makes him pull away, but Barton is still there. The archer pulls Tony in tight, rasping his stubble across Tony's neck as he scents him. "She's right," Barton rumbles low and steady through Tony's body. "You smell like the armor after battle."

Tony wants to say something cutting and witty about invading his personal space and sniffing him like a dog, but Bruce is in front of him with a mass spectrometer read out. "See," Bruce tells him, "no palladium. Can't smell it either. It's very distinctive, and I've never smelled it on you."

Rogers isn't as forward of the others. He leaves Tony hanging in Barton's arms, but he does grab Tony's hand for a firm squeeze. "Stark... Tony, I don't know what palladium smells like, but I trust Natasha and Bruce to know. And to me... You just smell like your lab, hot metal. I like it. No one I knew before ever smelled like that."

And Rogers would know with his superhuman senses. Tony still remembers perfectly watching him cry quietly when he'd caught a whiff of Peggy Carter's perfume from a department store a block away. It's not everything, but it's enough confirmation for Tony to start believing. His stomach's churning settles down into a dull empty throb of hunger. It's easy to let Barton tip him into a chair and to nibble on the slice of toast Bruce slides to him.

He should be humiliated, but everyone at this table has problems. Even Rogers doesn't judge here about these things. And Tony has already trusted all of them with his life in the field. None of them had ever missed a beat. Maybe that's enough to trust them about this. Tony sniffs as he raises the toast to his mouth. Bread, char, and beneath that burnt metal like the smell of discharging repulsors. Maybe he can learn to be okay with that.


End file.
